


Memento

by Vertiga



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Introspection, Post-Ponds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:33:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vertiga/pseuds/Vertiga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble inspired by this Tumblr manip: http://shippingallthegay.tumblr.com/post/2973262344/this-effect-is-made-even-awesomer-because-its</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memento

In a forgotten corner of the TARDIS there is a store room that no companion has ever found. Perhaps they never looked carefully enough. Perhaps Idris never let them, wanting her Doctor to have one last place to himself.

The walls are bare wood, the floor a gritty sort of concrete; it looks more like a warehouse than the inside of a space ship, but the Doctor comes to the room when he really needs to think. It is filled with mementos, what a more vulgar man might think of as trophies from his thousands of adventures.

Two weeping angels take pride of place in opposite corners, frozen in stone forever by each other's gazes. An Ood mask hangs on a stand, a small reminder of one of the Doctor's cleverest disguises. The lonely God takes comfort from his room of victories, but it is not a cure for all ills. Sometimes, it is not enough.

The Doctor closes the door behind him and perches on the edge of a box of broken sonic screwdrivers, evidence of many hundreds of valiant battles. He has just left Amy and Rory Pond at home on Earth, leaving them behind to save them both. But saving feels too much like abandoning, this time.

The TARDIS has never seemed so quiet, pin-wheeling through space on automatic as the Doctor sinks into himself. All the colour has gone out of his world. Everything has turned as grey as a stone angel. The only trace of brightness he can see comes from his bowtie and braces - a Christmas gift from Amy on their visit to Titan - and even they are muted, faded from their vibrant red to something bloody. The Doctor has seen too much of that colour in his life.

Sitting amidst his trophies, the Doctor's thoughts turn to the adventures not memorialised here - the times when his very best was not enough. The loneliness of his life, his unending burden, crushes down on him. His shoulders slump, feeling every one of his centuries, and inside the empty TARDIS, silence falls.


End file.
